The Dog Park
by Imagination Central
Summary: In which Derek's dog really hates Stiles' dog, and Stiles' dog really hates Derek's dog. (Eventual glasses shopping) Human AU & SMUT Enjoy
1. Fat Bulldogs and Old Men

**Author's Note - Hello! This was an idea I stole from Tumblr, suggested to me by a friend. So, here it is. ALSO: To Dylan O'Brien fans, you'll catch some little tid bits in here that involve Dylan ****_outside_**** of Teen Wolf. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy. **

**Warnings: CURSSSIIINNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG (and some bad attempts at humor).**

**Enjoy, Devynn. (You better give me that Butterfinger)**

**x~x~x**

Marty really hated Duke.

Marty was Stiles' fat white bulldog, and Duke would be some random model's massive Rottweiler.

You can imagine how the fat bulldog picking a fight with a muscled Rottweiler always ended.

Stiles' strengthened his hold on Marty's leash, amazed that such a fat little creature could pack all that strength into one tug. They had arrived at the dog park, and Marty, being the little social butterfly that he was, had already spotted some of his friends, milling around and sniffing each other's butts.

Stiles, on the other hand, was quickly checking in all directions for the owner of Duke, worry crawling up his throat. Whenever he saw that face – Duke's owner was model gorgeous with a body that made Calvin Klein models cry – he knew that he would have to hightail it out of there. He also looked exactly like a stereotypical Rottweiler owner would look; he constantly had a worn black leather jacket slung over his wide shoulders, a faint hint of stubble across a jaw that could kill, and smoldering green eyes that made Stiles want to melt into the ground.

And also run screaming, because his face usually meant Marty's near death. Thankfully, however, the dog park seemed void of all Rottweiler's and gorgeous men at the moment. Slipping through the gate, Stiles tried not to lose his glasses as Marty jumped and wiggled around, dancing circles in between Stiles legs.

"Okay, _okay_, Marty, I will let you go if you _stop _jumping."

Marty ran his head into the fence, whining in protest. A couple dog owners looked over at the sound, and Stiles blushed.

"Marty, you are a stupid son of a bitch," Stiles muttered under his breath before he opened up the gate and watched as his fat little bundle of bulldog raced for a petite looking Wiener dog, instantly snuffling around its tiny hindquarters.

Sighing, Stiles slung Marty's leash around his slim hips and leaned against the fence, watching his dog waddle around with a small smile on his face.

He had first started bringing Marty to the dog park when he a realized that his bulldog was overweight and fat, and decided that he needed to lose some of the poundage. That hadn't happened, however, and Marty remained as fat as ever, but after a while, it had almost become a stress reliever. Something about watching furry creatures run around aimlessly and sniff each other's butts made Stiles relax and hang loose, for whatever reason.

"I see Marty is happy as ever," came a gravelly voice from Stiles' left. Turning with a smile, he nodded at Fredrick's old, weathered face. They had bonded over their dog's affection for each other, and Stiles found the old man's company pleasant. There weren't many other people who talked to their dogs as much as Stiles.

"Marty just ate all of my ice cream cone from McDonald's, so he better be damn happy."

"And you still wonder why he's fat?"

"Hey, let's keep the accusations to ourselves here, Fredrick."

The man laugh-wheezed and clapped his large hands together like he couldn't stand Stiles. That was another reason he liked Fredrick. He thought Stiles was the funniest thing that ever had graced this dog park.

Stiles smiled back too, but then his eyes caught on something entering the dog park, and he paled. It was crazy good hair, most likely styled into perfection in front of the mirror like a girl, but still, it was gorgeous. Which could mean only one of two things.

a) Someone with crazy good hair had decided that this park would be a good place to start taking their small, peaceful dog.

b) Owner of Duke, aka Model Man, was being a douche and coming at the exact same time as Stiles and causing chaos and the near death of his dog.

Stiles was not naïve enough to believe that any other man could have hair that perfect, but he wasn't quick enough in calling Marty's name. His little bulldog was already turned fully towards where Duke had just entered the park, wagging his body in excitement as he jumped around Tall Dark and Handsome, waiting to be let off his leash. Marty's short fur was bristling, and his stubby little legs were pawing at the ground like he was some sort of bull getting ready to charge at a red flag.

"MARTY!" Stiles yelped, "DON'T DO IT!" Just as he took off as fast as his chubby little legs could take him, heading straight for Duke. Calvin Klein Model glanced up just as Duke roared his mighty roar and broke free from his leash, charging at Marty.

The bulldog growled and came to a screeching halt, just as Duke tumbled into him, sending both of them sprawling in a rather ugly sounding doggy greeting.

"God, fuck, _shit_, Marty you are honestly so –"

"Duke! DUKE GET OFF OF HIM!"

"Marty, GET HIM OFF OF YOU, PUSSY!"

Model Man glanced over at this, his angry eyebrows lifting and Stiles fought down the urge to blush, and instead did the super manly thing and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

He was such a nerd.

He rushed forward, reaching where Marty was rolling around on the ground like an upside down turtle, while Duke was standing gracefully over the writhing mass of fat, his upper lip pulled taut in a fierce growl.

"Hey, good doggy, I just need to grab this little greaseball right here…"

Model Man must have been staring at his back in disgust, because Stiles felt the burn of eyeballs on his spinal cord as he yanked Marty into his arms, standing up just as Duke launched himself towards Stiles, all large mouth and big teeth and scary sounds.

Stiles made a really manly sound, somewhere between a squeal and a squeak, and fell backwards, listening as Marty growled and writhed in his arms, like he thought he was hot shit.

"Duke, for the love of God," a deep voice shouted, and as Stiles turned to address the Angel, Marty leapt from his grasp and landed awkwardly on the ground, then took off towards his patch of doggy friends, his large tongue hanging out of his mouth in a manner that made him look all kinds of intelligent. Duke saw this and launched himself at the bulldog, knocking Stiles down in the process.

"Duke! Heel!"

Stiles' arms swung out around him as he tumbled towards the grass, grunting hard as he connected with the soft green of the ground. There was a low curse word above him, and then Stiles realized his glasses had fallen off on his trip downward.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" that voice was there again, so deep and so shivery.

"Glasses," Stiles muttered, blinking into the blur that was Mr. Model's face. He wished he could experience his face when he could actually _see_.

"Right, ah here they… NO! DUKE!"

There was a sound of shattering glass, and then even more curse words and a growl that sounded a lot like Marty. Ah, good old Marty, always there when Stiles needed him. Not.

"Um, I think my dog just broke your glasses."

"You're shitting me,"

"I don't think so,"

"How do you _think_ he broke my glasses? Did you not see it or something? Do we need to hold a jury to see which dog was guilty of breaking my glasses? Those were _amazing_ glasses, goddamnit."

"Um,"

"Just give me my glasses, man. I need to see in order to drive home."

There were suddenly glasses being thrust into Stiles' large hands, and he fumbled them onto his face. Once they were over his eyes, however, he realized that one whole chunk of glass had fallen out of his left lens.

"I'm really sorry about that," Stiles tried to focus on the guy's face, blinking back a gasp of surprise when he was hefted up out of the grass by strong hands. "If you can't see well enough, I can take you home no problem. I'll buy you new glasses, too so don't…" He trailed off when Stiles held up his hand.

"Where is Marty? Is Marty okay?"

"Marty?"

"My bulldog. You know, the fat white one with a spot over his left eye? Your dog seems to hate him a lot."

"It's not like Marty loves Duke."

"God, _Duke_. How original is that?"

"What's wrong with his name?"

"I mean, Duke is nice and everything, but seriously, it's so stereotypical it makes me want to gag. No wonder Marty hates him."

"What."

"Oh, don't even act offended. You know it's true."

"Well, your dog is fat."

"Tell me something I don't know. At least he has an original name."

"His name makes him sound mentally unstable."

"Duke's name makes him sound stereotypical and soulless. At least Marty has a soul."

"Yeah, well, Marty's owner doesn't have a ride home anymore."

"Hold up, now, let's not be hasty, here," Stiles said in a rush, holding out his hands to stop Mr. Model from turning around and officially stranding him. "I'm sorry for mocking your dog's name, but I am kind of ticked that he broke my favorite glasses."

With his limited perception, Stiles picked up an annoyed eye roll and an eyebrow twitch combo that made him grin despite himself. "So, do I still have a ride home?"

"Get Marty."

"Sweet! Thanks, dude, I really appreciate it… MARTY GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

x~x~x

The car ride home would have been at least a little less awkward if they had avoided bringing both dogs in the same car. However, seeing as Stiles was road blind (pun intended), they didn't have many options. Getting Duke and Marty into the same car also proved very difficult, because every time Marty would even get remotely close to the car door, Duke would start barking his ass off and Marty would nearly piss himself trying to jump out of Stiles' arms. Finally, though, they worked it out so Duke was confined to the back seat and Marty was held tightly in Stiles' arms, despite his attempts to wriggle himself free.

When they pulled up to a stop light, Stiles adjusted his glasses and shoved Marty down between his legs and held him there for a moment, trying to get a breath of air that _didn't_ contain dog fur. Mr. Model glanced over in what Stiles assumed was amusement, (he couldn't really tell what with his singular eyesight and the guys mask of a face) then turned back to the road and continued to drive.

"It just occurred to me that I still don't know your name and you are driving me back to my house. I don't know about you, but that is nearly the definition of danger. Or dangerous. Though, those are nearly the same things anyways." Stiles paused to consider, "Either way, this is defiantly not safe."

There was a grunt from the driver's seat, and then the car came to a stop, and Stiles realized they were in a gas station parking lot.

"My name is Derek Hale, and I'm the owner of a bar downtown."

"Nice to meet you Derek Hale, owner of 'A Bar Downtown'. You know, that's one of the most creative names I've ever heard of. How do you come up with it? Does it just come to you? Or do you have a friend that helps you come up with that? That could be a profession. That should be _my_ profession."

Mr. Model, or Derek, ran his hands through his hair and let out a big sigh. "Yes. Sure. What about you?"

Stiles blinked.

"_What_ about me? There's nothing much to me. My name is Stiles, ah, Stilinski, and currently I am in college, aspiring to work at Google, because who doesn't want to work there?"

Derek made a slightly impressed noise, then shook his head and started the car up. "So, now is it safe for me to take you home?"

"Well, not technically, because we don't _know_ each other yet. Like, I could look up everything I just learned about you on the Internet. But I'll accept it. For now."

Stiles earned a small response from Derek at this, then he started the car and they were on the road again. Marty was writhing in between his legs, probably trying to free himself so he could either sit nicely in Stiles' lap, or launch himself at Duke, who had quieted down and was now laying on the ground of the car, his head between his paws.

"So, where is your house?"

"That is personal, and you are only allowed to know that if you are friend level fifteen."

"What level am I?"

"About a six point eight."

"How do I get to a fifteen?"

Stiles shrugged and looked at his shoes like he was thinking. Derek tried to ignore how cute he looked when he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"You have to know my favorite color."

"Your favorite color?"

"Yes. As in, the color my eyes most enjoy looking at."

"I have no clue."

"There is this wonderful tool called _guessing_."

"I don't want to guess your favorite color. I just want to take you home."

"Now we're really getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?"

"Would you _shut up_?"

"I can _hear_ the italics."

"Oh my God, Stiles, what is your favorite color?"

"Weeeeeeelll, since you asked so nicely, my favorite color is red."

"Where do you live?"

Stiles put a hand to his heart and Marty jumped out of his legs, attacking his face with his tongue. "You sure do know how to sweet talk a boy, don't you Derek?"

The man rolled his eyes and put the car into drive, listening as Stiles gave him the directions to his house. On the ride over, the silence, while slightly annoying to Stiles, was not awkward or uncomfortable, except for the few times that Marty fart-squeaked and stunk up the entire Camaro.

When Derek pulled into Stiles' apartments parking lot, he hesitated before pulling the car into Park. Then he turned to look at Stiles, and the boy tried to keep from letting drool fall out of his mouth.

"So, we need to set up a time to get those glasses switched."

"Yes, yes we do."

"When?"

"When what? When is my birthday? When is the end of the world? When is am I going to become an A-list celebrity in the Kim Kardashian mobile app? We may never know."

"_When_ do you want to buy new ones?"

"Ah, there we go. Tomorrow is a good time. Shall we say, tomorrow at four?"

"I'll pick you up."

And with that, Stiles hopped down from the car, pulled Marty out after him, and watched as the Angel of Sex that was Derek Hale, drove away.

x~x~x

"Scott, you have no idea, he was, _is_, the cutest, no, _hottest_, thing to walk this planet we call Earth. _And he gave me a ride home_."

"Stiles, that's really great and everything, but I can relate to you in _no fucking way at all_. I still don't get why you tell me about all your guy crushes."

"Because if I tell Lydia I'm afraid she'll ask if she can meet them, and no offense to her, but I really don't want that to happen."

"Fair enough. So, I'm assuming he's buying your new glasses tomorrow?"

Stiles popped a buttery piece of popcorn into his mouth, then fed Marty a handful and sighed. "I sure hope so. I have no money for my own food. I have no money for Marty's food. I _certainly_ have no money for glasses."

"Certainly?"

"Most defiantly."

"I see."

Stiles grinned into the phone, then wedged it between his shoulder and ear so he could shove the bowl of popcorn forward and adjust his position on the couch.

"How's the Allison deal coming along?"

"It's coming, I guess. She's really emotional right now, though. I honestly can't tell if she's on… you know, or if it's just a side of her I haven't seen yet."

"Ah, yes, yes." Stiles mumbled, fumbling with the remote to the TV.

"Stiles?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want to fuck me?"

"Mhm, yeah." Dropping the remote in satisfaction, Stiles smiled at the screen, watching as Forrest got shot in the ass. Then his eyes widened in horror as he realized what he had said.

"God, _no_, Scott, no offense, but I would never tap you, ever. You remind me of some sort of dog, which, while cute, is so not fuckable."

"Ew, God, Stiles, that is disgusting."

Shrugging his shoulders, Stiles continued to munch on his popcorn. It was quiet on the line for a beat, and then there was a loud thud and a string of curse words.

"I just dropped a giant ass dictionary on my foot," Scott muttered, then hung up just as Stiles snorted into the phone.

After Scott was gone, Stiles was given some time to just sit and think, which usually never ended very well for him. He kept thinking about Derek, and how he would see him tomorrow, sans dogs and chaos, and just _be_. The thought filled him with intense shivers that travelled quickly along the base of his spine and down his arms.

They would be alone, together, shopping for glasses. Which meant that Derek would be studying Stiles' face a lot. Which meant that Stiles had to look fantastic tomorrow.

There was only one problem.

Stiles' had a way too perky nose and he was too skinny and strangely pale and had little moles nearly _everywhere_.

Not to mention completely _wrong_ for Derek.

What Derek needed was another guy, or girl, who was tough and gorgeous and mysterious and sexy like he was. He needed an equal, someone he could relate with. He didn't need some nerd with huge hipster glasses and aspirations for Google sharing his bed at night.

Who did?

Grunting in annoyance, Stiles turned over on the couch and Marty gave an annoyed growl before flopping off the couch and onto the floor, where he made a nice bed out of the spilled popcorn kernels, then went to sleep.

Stiles smiled softly at his dog, ruffled his head lightly, then closed his eyes and passed out on his couch.

x~x~x

Derek checked his appearance once more in the mirror of his car before he leaned forward and bit his lip, trying to control the butterflies (God, he was such a girl), flying around in his stomach. He had not a clue as to why he was so nervous about picking Stiles up and taking him to go get a pair of glasses. It's not like he couldn't afford it.

Still.

His mouth was like a giant cotton ball and his throat constricted uncomfortably every time he tried to swallow. Why was he so nervous? Why did that little skinny dork with an adorable nose make him squirm? Strengthening his resolve, he checked his watch to make sure he wasn't early. Ten minutes wasn't _that_ bad, was it?

Walking up the crumbly sidewalk of Stiles' apartment complex, Derek tried to think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a socially awkward man who had no friends. But, when he knocked on the door and Stiles answered in a red and dark blue plaid shirt and skinny jeans, he momentarily forgot how to breathe. How could someone's eyes be so _brown_? How could someone's nose be so _cute_?

"Uh, hey." Derek mumbled, staring down at his feet.

Stiles grinned and bumped his shoulder. "The D-man has arrived. Nice. So, where are we going to hunt for glasses?"

Derek was momentarily caught off guard by the casual hand at his shoulder, but then a tremendous barking from inside snagged his attention.

"Marty! NO! It's just Derek!"

"I don't think he understands you," Derek tried.

"You don't understand the relationship I share with Marty. I understand everything he says, and he understands everything I say."

"Oh really," Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What did he just say, then?"

Stiles looked down. "I don't feel comfortable repeating it."

Derek hid his laugh behind his hand and turned away, shaking his head.

"So, do you have any glasses preference places?"

"I do thoroughly enjoy places that hold the brand 'Hipster'."

"That's not a brand."

"It's a thing."

"But that's not the same as a brand."

"For the love of Pete, just take me to Wal-Mart. I hear they have sexy salesmen."

Derek's heart fluttered at that, a smile working its way into his features. "I am not taking you to Wal-Mart."

"Fine. But _take me somewhere_. I need glasses. Preferably black."

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled out of the parking lot, sliding onto the street. He started towards downtown, and Stiles glanced out the window.

"Where's your bar?"

Derek looked over in interest, watching as the blur of buildings went by. "Somewhere down First Street. Down that road right there," he pointed down a happy looking road, lined with Redstone buildings and old-fashioned lampposts.

"Dainty."

"Shut up."

Stiles grinned and continued to look around, and the same silence that had blanketed them the day before surrounded them again, though this time it felt more causal, more comfortable than the day prior. Derek kept trying to force himself to look at the road, but it was proving a difficult task with Stiles sitting in his passengers seat wearing that plaid shirt.

_Damn_ did he look good in that shirt.

Derek jumped as a car horn blared next to him and swerved his car back into its proper lane. Stiles was mimicking a heart attack next to him and throwing his hands out like he was choking.

Finally, after a couple more car horns and Stiles faking death, Derek pulled into a small eye doctor clinic, to which Stiles groaned out loud.

"You've got to be kidding me right now. This is where _old_ people come. They are _so_ not going to have the glasses I want here."

"Quit complaining."

"Quit complaining. Quit complaining? I am _not_ wearing grandpa glasses, _ever_ never _ever_. I don't care if they're made of gold and will get me all the guys. I refuse to look at myself in those."

Derek rolled his eyes and started opening his door. "I'm sure you could pull them off," he muttered, and Stiles whole face broke out in a pleasantly adorable blush.

Once they were inside, a watery eyed old man came to greet them, smiling happily. "Hello! What can I help you with?"

"I need new glasses."

"Do you already have a prescription?"

"Yes indeed,"

The man looked a little disappointed at that, but waved them towards the wall of glasses anyway. "Then have a look. I'll check your papers and go find some cleaners for you."

Stiles nodded along as if he knew what the man was talking about, but Derek stood there looking a little less than intelligent. He had no idea what either of them had even been saying. Glasses talk was foreign to him.

Stiles was already over at the wall of glasses, studying them like they were some sort of complicated puzzle. "I see _no_ hipster glasses here at _all_ and those are the _only_ kind that fit my delightfully boyish face."

Derek scanned the rows of glasses until his eyes landed on a pair of ridiculously old manish glasses.

"Stiles, close your eyes."

"I don't trust you, therefore I refuse to close my eyes."

"Just close your eyes."

"No."

"Stiles."

"Fine."

As his big brown eyes fell closed, Derek plucked the wire-rimmed oval shaped glasses from the wall and slid them over Stiles' perky nose. Then he maneuvered him in front of the testing mirror and removed his hands.

"You can look now."

Stiles opened his eyes slowly, and when he saw his face he whipped his head around and glared at Derek, not bothering to remove the glasses.

"You disgust me," Stiles growled, whipping the glasses off his head and shoving them into Derek's hands. "A man lays his biggest fears out for you, and what do you do? You throw them, no, _shove_ them right back in his face."

Derek laughed and walked back over to where he had found them sliding them back into place. Then his eyes caught on glasses; a pair of slightly chunky glasses with a medium sized black frame and wide lenses. What Stiles called, 'hipster glasses'. Plucking them off the wall, Derek walked over to Stiles, who was helplessly staring up at the wall, and tapped his shoulder.

"I swear to God, if you have another pair of god-awful grandpa glasses in your hand, I will smack you."

"I don't, I promise."

Turning around slowly, as if he didn't want to look, Stiles glanced down at the glasses offered in Derek's hands. His whole face lit up in one instant and he was sliding them over his eyes, where they rested perfectly on his cute little nose, highlighting his eyes in the best possible way. Derek could imagine Stiles falling asleep on the couch in those glasses, taking Marty out for a walk in those glasses, doing his college homework in those glasses, working at Google in those glasses.

Kissing Derek madly and passionately in those glasses.

Stiles was busy looking at himself in the mirror, biting his lip as if he wasn't sure. "You're positive these look okay? Like, they don't make me look stupid or anything?"

"No," Derek responded, and his voice was a touch hoarser than usual.

"You're for sure? I don't want to go out in public looking like a…" Stiles trailed off, suddenly aware that Derek had taken two steps forward and invaded his personal space quickly. He smelled of musk and Old Spice and faintly of the Black Ice car scenty he had hanging in his Camaro.

"I'm for sure,"

Derek's voice sounded like sex. He _looked_ like sex. Stiles swallowed hard, blinking a little too fast to look natural. Then Derek's mouth was on his and the world ceased to exist. All the grandpa glasses and the big Rottweilers and barking Martys and awkward eye care professionals no longer existed. The only thing that mattered was Derek's feather soft kiss against Stiles' lips, the way they moved and parted Stiles' own, the way they urged Stiles' tongue into Derek's mouth. Someone groaned, though Stiles wasn't sure if it was him or Derek. There were hands in his hair and on his collar bone and at his hips and all Stiles could do was moan into the kiss and keep his firm grip on Derek's leather jacket.

But then there was a loud noise of surprise, and Derek jerked away from Stiles. The old man eye care professional stood in the middle of the hardwood floor, a clipboard held in his hands, his pen fallen on the floor.

Stiles cleared his throat and took a small step back, pretending like he hadn't almost come in the middle of an eyeglasses store for old people from a kiss from a guy he had just met yesterday at a dog park. Psh.

"Ah," the old man started, but Stiles interrupted him by sliding the glasses off his face and handing them over to the overwhelmed man.

"I think we'll be buying these,"

**x~x~x**

Please review to let me know what you think!

-IC


	2. Wine Nerds and Ripped Shirts

**Well, it's been a long wait. Like, unfairly long, and I apologize. I literally have been too lazy to find the time for writing until today. So, here it is- the sex filled chapter you've been waiting for. Enjoy, Devynn. (She still hasn't given me that Butterfinger)**

x~x~x

Derek's apartment was clean. Scary clean. Stiles drug the pad of his fingertip over a picture of a pretty girl with brown hair and crazy cheekbones. He inspected it for dust, and was amazed when it came back mark-free. In fact, it actually looked _cleaner_. Damn. Shuffling nervously, Stiles casually pulled the front of his pants out a little to check the condition of his boxers. Luckily, they were gray, so he was pretty sure there wouldn't be any visible spaghetti sauce or ice cream stains. Hopefully. Letting go of the front of his pants with a snap, Stiles smiled at Derek as he turned around.

"Want anything to drink?" He asked, his voice rough and tough and Stiles' pants weren't going to be stain free much longer.

Shifting his shoulder in a shrug, Stiles walked a little further into Derek's apartment, eyeing the shiny metal kitchen. His fridge was glossy and black, which matched his marble countertop that gleamed in the low lighting. His sink was long and curved; the color of brushed metal. He had a knife block, completely stocked and sitting at an angle on his shining counter. Stiles swallowed nervously and edged away from the counter, watching as Derek grabbed two clear glasses from his cherry wood cupboard.

"I'm assuming being the owner of a bar pays well?" Stiles asked, leaning back against Derek's sleek black couch.

"Being the owner of a popular bar pays well," Derek responded, flicking his eyes up as a small grin graced his face.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, coming closer to Derek so that he could lay his forearms against the cold counter. "Popular?"

Derek's smile widened as he twisted around to reach for a something at the top of his cupboard. His muscles flexed and pulled tauntingly at Stiles, and he had to bite his lip to keep from taking a picture. When Derek turned back around, he held a bottle of red wine. The label was 'PINOT NOIR' which meant absolutely nothing to Stiles, considering all the alcohol he had ever consumed was beer from his cheap stash at home or the shots he occasionally took when he went out. He wasn't going to count the wine he had had at church. He was pretty sure that was grape juice, anyway.

Stiles reached for the clear wine glass and twirled it between his long fingers, holding it with the tips of his fingers and sticking his lower lip out, jutting his chin. Swirling the cup around with his wrist loosely, Stiles said, "Now fill my cup, wine boy,"

Derek didn't look particularly impressed at being called 'wine boy' but he filled it up anyways, stopping a little over half-way. Stiles dropped his act and frowned at the cup as Derek set the bottle down and took hold of his own glass.

"Why did you only fill it up half-way?" Stiles whined, squishing his nose at Derek. He found himself surprisingly at ease here in Derek's expensive apartment, with his fancy wines and tight shirts.

"It allows you to taste it more. Savor it," Derek said, bringing the glass to his lips and letting a small mouthful slip in. He closed his eyes and held the wine there for a moment, then swallowed it. Stiles stared down at his own glass, hiding his growing smile. Derek was a wine nerd.

"Your one of those people?" Stiles mocked, swallowing a gulp of his drink rather quickly, choking along the way. Derek watched him recover with a smirk on his face before responding.

"One of what people? Wine-drinkers?"

"No, wine _nerds_," Stiles heaved, wiping tears from his eyes and blinking as he removed his glasses for a moment.

Derek looked momentarily confused before he rolled his eyes. "I just happen to like wine, Stiles."

Stiles raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and shrugged. "That's a bit surprising. Considering you own a bar and all."

Derek smiled devilishly again, like he had when Stiles had mentioned is bar before. He swirled his wine around his cup, gazing over at Stiles with hooded eyes. Stiles wasn't sure if he found it creepy or seductive. Glancing quickly away, so as not to become a raging horn dog in the middle of the afternoon, Stiles tried to steer the conversation into a safe-zone.

"So, what's the bars name?"

Derek placed his glass on the counter and started to draw circles on his counter top, smirking up at him again. "It's called Duke's. You've heard of it?"

Stiles turned around and stared at Derek. "You own _Duke's_?" Horror was crawling up the back of his spine like little spiders. How many times had he gone there, looking to get pass out drunk and succeeded? How many times had he made a fool of himself in front of the entire bar by trying to dance sober? Humiliation burned up the sides of his stomach, up along his neck and came to a fiery rest in his cheeks. Derek watched his reddening face with an amused grin, taking another sip of his wine.

"How many times have you seen me there?" Stiles asked, running desperately through some of his worst bar scenes. He couldn't remember which bar it was at, but he did remember what happened. He had gotten so intoxicated that he had tried to dance with the body guard, trying to convince him that he was actually Kevin Bacon and he had to save the town. He had ended up walking away in a storm, ripping his own shirt in half (something he was still rather proud of) and blind-folding an unsuspecting girl from behind with one of the halves. Shortly after he had fallen to the floor and had been dragged away to a back room by one of the workers, where Scott had found him an hour later, passed out. Stiles winced as Derek contemplated his answer, pouring himself more wine.

"Quite a bit. Did you ever get that shirt of yours stitched back up?"

Oh God.

Oh _God_.

Stiles sank slowly to the counter top, pressing his burning cheek against the cold, slick surface, closing his eyes. Then something occurred to him. "You knew who I was, at the dog park, didn't you?"

Derek suddenly became very interested in his fingernail, picking at the perfectly rounded edges. "Yeah, I mean, kinda. I didn't _know_ you, I just knew you liked to get really drunk."

Stiles smiled widely and blushed, wondering if Derek had been coming to the dog park just because of him.

Derek blushed harder, and Stiles realized he had spoken out loud.

"Not at first, you know," Derek coughed and stood up, walking over to his living room. He stood there, tapping his finger against his ridiculously large bicep. "But then I recognized you and…"

"Started stalking me?" Stiles put in helpfully.

"No! Just, timing my dog park trips with Duke so they'd match yours. That's not stalking."

Stiles smiled and set his glass down, crossing his arms. "Then how come you never talked to me? And why did we get into an argument?"

Derek rolled his eyes and thrust his hands into his pockets, finally looking back at Stiles. "I'm not good with people. And you're very annoying. And loud."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, pushing off the counter. "I am not annoying, or loud. If I was, would I be standing here?"

"Yes," Derek responded, watching Stiles with once again hooded eyes. "I have a thing for loud and annoying,"

A fire exploded inside of Stiles and he sat down quickly, trying to handle the sudden loss of blood in his head. Derek watched him sit down, then he turned quickly and pushed the on button for his TV. "It's too early in the afternoon for that," he muttered, clearing his throat.

Stiles was momentarily confused, until he figured out what _that_ was. More blood left his head and he grabbed the nearest pillow and folded it over his lap.

"What movie do you want to watch?" Derek asked, crouched low on the ground, sorting through his DVDs. His jeans were pulled gloriously tight over his ass, and Stiles had to sit on his hands to keep from reaching out and just _grabbing_. Clearing his throat, he asked what his options were.

"Uh, mostly action. All the Marvel movies, both Kill Bills, Die Hard, Kick-Ass." Derek glanced behind him, and Stiles bit his lip.

"Kill Bill."

Smiling happily, Derek slipped the DVD out of its case and placed it in the DVD player, pressing play. Before he sat down, he walked over to the wall and switched the light off, so the only light was the soft glow of the TV. Stiles rested his head against the cushion and settled down, only stiffening slightly when he felt Derek take a seat next to him, heat radiating off his body like a furnace. The music started playing, and they fell silent.

x~x~x

About four hours and two both Kill Bill movies later, Stiles stretched and went limp into Derek's soft couch. Beside him, said man groaned and rubbed at his eyes, arching his back. Stiles was too sleepy to hold back. He reached over and trailed his hand over the swell of Derek's shoulder, following the bone up to his neck and back down his spine. Derek had gone very still, everything but his heaving chest held very still. Stiles moved closer, placing both hands on Derek, one on his back and another on his stomach, where he could feel the hard press of his abdomen. He let out a small whimper, inching his hand farther along Derek's soft shirt. Derek let out a burst of air, and swiftly turned on Stiles, trapping his wrists in one of his hands, pulling Stiles' arms above his head.

"Derek," Stiles whispered, licking his lips in anticipation. He had met this man yesterday. They had known each other for even less time. Why was he in his apartment, about ready to let him fuck his brains out?

Derek growled and bent forward, capturing Stiles' lips with his own warm and furious ones, sliding against Stiles' crotch as he straddled him, burying him in his scent.

Oh yeah.

That was why.

Stiles groaned and arched into Derek, his fingers aching to wind through Derek's thick hair and _tug_, to hear Derek grunt, to make him growl again. He pressed his lips harder against Derek's the sound of their mingled breathing heavy in the air. Derek moved against him, pushing his jean-clad erection roughly against Stiles' own. Letting out a strangled gasp, Stiles jerked up hastily, trying to maintain the sweet friction. Derek groaned into Stiles' ear, and the smaller boy was almost sure that would be the end of him. Gasping as Derek thrust against him again, Stiles bucked his hips anxiously.

"Take your damn shirt off," he panted, staring up at Derek's sharp jawline. The older man smirked and leaned closer, nibbling along Stiles' ear. He shivered and whimpered.

"How about you rip it off?"

For some reason, Stiles gasped and closed his eyes, feeling his erection tighten almost painfully inside his jeans. "Jesus," he muttered, opening his eyes again only to be ensnared by Derek's ferocious gaze, and an evil smile on his face. He released Stiles' hands and straightened, obviously allowing him to give it a try.

Stiles, thoroughly annoyed and anxious to get back to the grinding and kissing, glared at Derek. "I can't do it now,"

Derek smiled and palmed Stiles' erection. "Yes you can," he murmured, causing Stiles' eyes to roll back in his head.

His hands starting moving up Derek's hard chest without his consent, coming to a rest at his collar, where he gave a small tug. Derek was breathing heavily, his biceps flexed and standing out impressively. Stiles' cock jumped and he groaned, fisting his hand in Derek's shirt and giving another feeble pull.

"Bastard," Stiles whispered, arching as Derek laughed lowly and slowly ground his hips against Stiles. "I can't do it,"

Derek leaned down and bit at Stiles' lower lip pulling it back with him as he leaned back up, trailing his hands up his chest. Stiles let his hands fall away so he could watch as Derek curled and pulled his hands through his hair. Then his hands came to a rest at his collar, and he placed his hands over Stiles', bringing them back up to his shirt. Stiles closed his eyes and suddenly felt something move. He opened them back up and Derek pulled his hands down, his muscles flexing. There was suddenly a loud ripping sound and Stiles watched as Derek tore his shirt right down the middle, revealing the hardest, most toned chest Stiles had ever seen.

"Oh shit," Stiles whimpered, his fingers venturing over Derek desperately, longing to feel every inch of Derek, know every spot that made him arch and growl and bite. "You're so hot," Stiles gasped as Derek rocked harder against him and came back down on him, his lips hard and needy and warm and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and bit at his lips, panting hard.

"Now your turn," Derek muttered, lifting Stiles shirt quickly over his head and tossing it to the floor, and Stiles bit his lip and arched into Derek's touch, loving the way his hands scorched his chest and made his breath catch in his lungs. Derek's hands brushed over Stiles' nipple and the man gave a strangled gasp and grabbed at the couch under him.

Derek's eyes darkened and he growled again and Stiles _died_. He wanted to take that sound and hold it in his hand. But then Derek's hand was tweaking Stiles' nipple and all thoughts fled his mind. A whine rose from his throat as his body jerked and bucked under Derek's touch.

"You like that?" Derek grinned and lightly trailed his hand down Stiles', fingering his zipper. Stiles' nodded and Derek swiftly pulled it down, dragging Stiles' jeans down quickly so they bunched around his knees. Stiles breath exploded out of his lungs when Derek slowly circled his fingers around the rock hard bulge pressing against his boxers.

"D-Derek," Stiles moaned, his hands curling behind his head as he arched into Derek's touch.

"Mmm," Derek hummed as his fingers slid under the elastic of Stiles' boxers, dragging them down as his fingers inched closer to Stiles' throbbing cock.

And then his hand was on Stiles. "_Shit_," Stiles moaned, quivering as Derek slowly began pumping his fist up and down, twisting his wrists and trailing his thumb over the slit.

"Oh God, Derek, please, _please_, don't stop," Stiles panted, his hands suddenly curled in his own hair, pulling as he fought not to come.

"Jesus, Stiles, I want to make you _scream_," Derek husked and encompassed Stiles' throbbing erection with his mouth.

Stiles did scream. He arched off the couch and shook with his desire, with the raging and pure _need_ mixing with the intense pleasure, blinding and white, coursing through his body. Derek's tongue was hot and smooth, roving over his shaft and up over his slit, causing Stiles to choke on another moan. Derek moved his head up with a delicious _pop_ and ran his hands over Stiles' thighs, one hand moving to cup his balls.

"You're going to come for me, Stiles" Derek ordered, his other hand returning to Stiles cock, his eyes never leaving the writhing man. As his hand moved along Stiles' shaft, he leaned forward and bit at Stiles' nipple, rolling his balls. Stiles gasped and quivered under his touch, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Stiles," Derek breathed, "come."

The world went white. Stiles' voice was hoarse as he screamed out again, his fingers clenching, his glasses tumbling off as his body was wracked with endless blinding, dizzying pleasure.

As the world slowly came back to Stiles, he felt Derek lift him in his arms, and Stiles barely registered the walls as they passed into Derek's bedroom. The soft cotton comforter pressed against his back a Derek set him down on his bed.

"Derek," Stiles murmured, curling his hands above his head.

Derek's lips lifted the slightest as he reached for something inside of his drawer.

"You've done this before?" Derek asked lowly, popping the lube open and squirting some into his hand and rubbing it over Stiles' entrance. He jumped at the cold sensation but sighed, spreading his thighs. Derek groaned and ran his hands down Stiles' thighs, biting his lip. "Yes?"

Stiles nodded, lifting his hips to encourage Derek to move things along. The older man's eyes darkened, and suddenly he became predatory again. He pulled his jeans down quickly and kicked them off, forcing Stiles' legs even wider apart, running his slick fingers over his entrance again, trailing them up to his balls, which he rolled slowly between his digits, making Stiles arch and moan, his cock jumping again, filling.

"You're mine this time," Derek growled, and Stiles groaned. Oh, _God_, Derek was possessive. His cock jumped again and he rocked his hips eagerly.

"Yeah, yours," Stiles agreed, and Derek thrust a finger inside him, his eyes never leaving Stiles as he watched the man buck desperately against his hand.

He added two more fingers, stretching Stiles out, and he curled them experimentally inside of him. Stiles groaned and hastily moved to grab Derek's hand, his eyes meeting the older man's.

"Fuck me, Derek," Stiles pleaded, and Derek moaned low in his throat. Then he slicked himself up.

Derek lined himself up with Stiles' entrance and thrust forward, suddenly encompassed in Stiles' warmth. Derek let his head hang forward as he breathed heavily through his nose, running both hands over Stiles' thighs, trying to keep himself from pounding into Stiles until they both came so hard they couldn't move.

Stiles was writhing under him, his hands traveling up Derek's chest, slick and smooth with sweat. "Okay," he breathed.

Derek lost it. He pushed into Stiles' all the way, as fast as he could go, their skin slapping, Stiles' high-pitched whining driving him mad. Derek leaned over Stiles with a growl and grabbed his face, forcing him to stare at him as he pounded him. Stiles' eyes were glazed over with lust, his plump lips slack as his body rocked in time with Derek.

"You're so gorgeous," Derek whispered, crushing his lips to Stiles, then burying his face in the crook of his neck, feeling Stiles' legs wrap around him, forcing him deeper. "I want to make you come so hard, you won't be able to walk." Derek growled, biting Stiles' neck.

"Derek, please," Stiles gasped, his hands clawing at Derek's back. Derek increased his speed, and Stiles stiffened, his mouth opening as he was brought closer and closer to the edge. Derek reached down between them and slowly pumped Stiles', groaning as he heard Stiles' choked version of his name as he came. As Stiles clenched around him, Derek's thrusts became more erratic and he finally felt his release in a burning white heat scorching through his entire body, making his fingers tingle as he emptied himself inside of Stiles.

"Stiles," Derek ground out, biting into the unmoving man's neck, then nuzzled his way up to his lips, which he kissed softly. He felt a soft pressure in return. Derek dropped his head on Stiles' smooth, pale chest, trying to regain his breathing.

There was suddenly a soft snuffling at the edge of the bed, and Derek lifted his head. Stiles made a small noise, and the snuffling stopped. Then suddenly there was a slight growl. Derek's eyes widened. He had completely forgotten about Duke. Stiles shifted his head slightly towards the sound, his eyes glazed over, his cheeks pink. Derek gave him another quick kiss. Then he slowly pulled out and got down from his bed. Duke was standing there, holding the shreds of Stiles' shirt in his mouth, his eyes wide with innocence. He must have smelled Marty.

"Shit," Derek muttered, staring at Duke's now wagging tale.

Stiles head suddenly appeared over the edge of the bed, and when he saw his shirt in tatters, he took Derek by surprise and smiled.

"Guess you'll have to take me shirt shopping now, huh?"

x~x~x

**Thank you for reading! Leave a review to tell me what ya think. Love, **

**-IC**


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